


Counterfeit Soul

by spellitwithyourpeas



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellitwithyourpeas/pseuds/spellitwithyourpeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The traces of his past were like footprints left in her apartment’s short and narrow hallways. He’d smile, a crooked grin, and then stare out the window to the pitch black sky. In those moments she felt like the ghost, like she was haunting him. A stranger in his life and she begins to doubt herself. She, not him, doubts his actions. Doubts his state of mind (and hers). Doubts if this fucked up thing is really worth it.</p>
<p>And it troubles her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counterfeit Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrythesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/gifts).



> Title from Bebe Rexha's Cry Wolf (an awesome song fyi)

The onset of the tremor in her hands, a subtle shake that unearthed the anxiety she had done such a good job of burying, was more than annoying. Karen didn’t think she could pin point the cause. It had to be a multi factorial problem. How could it be anything but? After all, shitty sleeping habits, exposure to trauma, and an unhealthy regard for caffeine…well those traits added up and took a toll. 

One that happened to be  just a little bit more noticeable now.

  It was a matter she didn’t want to accept. On some level she enjoyed her workaholic tendencies-she never half assed anything, but she wasn’t a masochist. You can’t work if you’re dead. And so she started reassessing her life choices.Exhaustion had it’s own kind of weight. Suffocating and hard pressing on her lungs. Blinding and all encompassing, and frankly she was tired of the circles under her eyes and the loose fit of her clothes.

Ellison noticed and sent her a reminder email about the healthcare package available to the Bulletin’s employees.   
Foggy stared a little longer than polite when the met for coffee. Concern, lingered in his gaze.

It was the hesitancy in their eyes that scared her. The apprehension. Like they didn’t recognize her anymore, like she was either a ship lost at sea or one very near to running herself aground, unable to prevent splintering  impact.  
There was a warning in Ellison’s tone when he not so delicately suggested she take some time off.

 Maybe not a warning, instead a desperate plea. _I don’t want to lose you too._

Karen could only agree. This wasn’t her. She didn’t want to lose herself either. 

  
So she took the week off. The first day she slept. A deep sleep that pulled her back under every time she tried to open her eyes. Before the panic could set in, _(Why? why couldn’t she force her eyes open? If she could just open her eyes, it would be ok. Why wasn’t her body listening to her?),_ the recognition of the trapped feeling faded as she resumed her dreamless slumber. When she woke she took a long shower, water bill be damned. There was no reason to tolerate the flighty temperatures varying from frigid to scalding. She let it settle to comfortably warm and stood while letting the water rinse away the shampoo. She hoped some of her troubles followed the suds down the drain.

The next day she cleaned her apartment-sorting through her laundry (ridiculously overdue) and deep cleaned her kitchen. By the end of the day she smiled at the glistening new state. 

 Not likely to last, but that didn’t matter. Not today at least.

On the third day she sat down at her kitchen table (still clean) with a cup of coffee (decaf) and a glass of water. Her bills were tucked away in their envelopes and stamped ready to be sent when she next ventured out of her home. (Tomorrow, she’d get out tomorrow. To the farmers market.)

Karen sipped her coffee, and closed her eyes at the warmth of the sun streaming in window.  

The tremor was faint as she took a sip of water.

There was one major issue still unresolved. That issue being Frank. He drew her in, he always did and always had. Perhaps always will. That was the question really. Was it worth it?   
As the days had passed she hadn’t contacted him. Resisted the urge to dial the number etched in her memory.

There were some things that didn’t add up. Karen always thought she was pretty good at picking up on the subtle inconsistencies in her life, but Frank always left her struggling to come to terms with their whole situation (playing house with a murder tended to add to those sleepless nights). The traces of his past were like footprints left in her apartment’s short and narrow hallways. He’d smile, a crooked grin, and then stare out the window to the pitch black sky. In those moments she felt like the ghost, like she was haunting him. A stranger in his life and she beins to doubt herself. She, not him, doubts his actions. Doubts his state of mind (and hers). Doubts if this fucked up thing is really worth it.

And it troubles her. 

She’s been wondering if he’s noticed. She’d bet money on the fact that he had.  
Definitely. He was good at noticing shit like that. Hell, he’d been trained to. She thought back to the trial. She’d been so quick to intervene in this man’s fate.   
So quick to chose sides in an endless war-the body count far surpassing her long forgotten piece of paper with the penciled tally marks as reports of the Punisher’s body count climbed high.

The past couple of days had been quiet and she was thankful for it. Time felt like it had slowed down just for her and the world, her world at least, felt like it was finally shifting back in the right direction.  
She bit her lip, dismissing the thought that the rightness of it all felt wrong. Like her lucky streak was sure to hit a dead end.   
Doubt.   
She doubted.   
He never seemed to doubt her. Not anymore and that fact made her queasy.   
The terror of the Punisher’s reign haunted the space of her quaint apartment as much as his tarnished memories did. And she had started questioning the sanity of it all. Not the morality of it though, she wasn’t really an expert in that area any more.

Her hands were bloody and tied. 

On the fifth night he called. A terse request to stop by to which she agreed to. _Can’t hide from your feelings forever._ That didn’t help anyway.   
There was only so much that adequate hydration, decaf coffee, and a clean house could do for you.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Karen didn’t think he minded it. Really though, who would complain about the quiet after hearing the harrowing tremor of gunfire. The only sound aside from the rumbling engines of the cars in the street was the tap of his boot on her linoleum floor. 

Her breaths were shallow as his were deep.

He broke first, “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

She hadn’t offered him coffee. Hadn’t spoken a word to him, just ushered him in when he had knocked on her door a few minutes prior.  Karen wished she’d made him the coffee.  
It would have been the decent thing to do, but honestly, she hadn’t been making their late night coffee for a while now-that was all him. At one point he had insisted he be useful.

 If she recalled, his exact words were, “You don’t have to wait on me ma'am. It ain’t right.” But he must have sensed the change in the air tonight. Maybe he suspected that his visit might be cut short.

A thorn in her side-that’s what she thought he envisioned his place in her life. Well, he was partly right. But she’d made the mistake of not caring if she drew her own blood when she got too close for comfort.

Karen cleared her throat, “I took a vacation.”

He scoffed, “Yeah. Where to?” The sarcasm was heavy.

She ground her teeth for a second before answering, “I’m still on it.”

Frank laughed, “Really getting out of your comfort zone there. I hear Hell’s Kitchen is great in the summer.”

“Don’t be an asshole. I just needed…time.”   
His expression grew serious and his voice, gruff. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, life just catching up. Wanted to try and break while I’m ahead.”

“Before you crash and burn?”

“Pretty much.”

Frank nodded, and surveyed the surrounding room. Karen noticed the small smile and wondered at the specific trigger. Was it that all her clothes finally   
had made it into her closet? Or was it the lack of dishes drying in the rack?

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Time for a change.”

An eyebrow arched in response. She cringed, her tone had been cold. Unintentionally so. She swallowed hard, “I mean, I’m just…trying to take care of things,” She paused and avoided his gaze, "I’m trying to take care of myself, a little bit better.” When her tentative gaze met his, she saw the briefest recognition of understanding. 

  
Was he included in that change? A question he wouldn’t voice, but she knew he’d respect her answer-wherever it placed him. Left waiting behind a locked door,  his knocks unanswered and unheard.   
Ignored.

  
He’d leave if need be. If she needed him too. Hell he’d begged her to.

    
She wasn’t so sure though. At one point, Karen had almost made a list. She almost put her thoughts to paper-usually when she put pen to paper it wasn’t so personal…what the fuck was she saying  
It had been fucking personal from the start.

 He was personal. And he wasn’t so easy to separate into two columns. “The pros’ and cons’ of Frank Castle”. Murder being a pretty major “con”

Maybe the list needed to change, no make it the whole fucking thing. Title it “What does Karen Page want in life?”

And as she sat silently, watching him move to stand and pull out a pack of cigarettes, leaning against the wall next to her window, she wondered. He flicked the lighter and the flame rose in controlled brilliance. He touched the tip to the flame and inhaled. 

  
Funny how the tension he held in his shoulders dissipated as he exhaled out the window, smoke drifting and mixing with the city’s night sky.

Change was good. Change had allowed her a fresh start and a life so different than she could have ever imagined. So yes, maybe she’d make that doctor’s appointment and work on sleeping like a functional adult. She’d aim for balance-and probably totter along the way. She’d aim for control. She’d decrease her caffeine intake and see if the pounding in her chest quieted at all. She’d try to find peace.

But was peace worth letting go of Frank?

She watched him smirk as he stared out the window. Maybe it was a recollection of an event of the night-a moment when he’d caught his target off guard. Maybe  
a fond memory of Maria. Or maybe because his life hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined either.

No, it wasn’t fucking worth letting him go.

**Author's Note:**

> (Wow it's been a while writing wise...which has only been like a week and half...BUT STILL)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Find me on [tumblr](http://lightofpage.tumblr.com/)


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